


A Little Christmas Cheer

by ariadneslostthread



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Christmas, Gen, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadneslostthread/pseuds/ariadneslostthread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis de l'ABC throw a little Christmas party to cheer up Enjolras, whose been under the weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Christmas Cheer

“Shh! He’ll hear!” Courfeyrac hissed under his breath, glaring out at Bossuet from underneath one end of a Christmas garland. 

“Sorry!” Bossuet murmured back, from the middle of the garland, steadying himself on Joly’s shoulder and throwing a baleful look at the rug over which he’d very nearly come a cropper.

“I thought he was asleep!” Bahorel was at the very opposite end of the garland to Courfeyrac. He didn’t speak with any particular effort to be loud, his voice just resonated in that certain way which filled a room, and accordingly, within seconds he was soundly shushed.

“Shush! Don’t you go waking him either, then!” Joly scolded, with an alarmingly fierce expression on his jolly face. It lasted all of a heart beat before he broke into giggles, smothered behind his hands. “Oh! Bossuet, we’re never going to be able to hang it properly if you’re half tangled in it! Here… let me…”

And so Joly left directing duties solely to Jehan, to untangle and relieve Bossuet of hanging and tacking duties lest some horrific Christmas tragedy befall them all; the garland catching the fire and setting Enjolras’ rooms alight; Bossuet, accidentally of course, tripping over a hanging loop and destroying the possessions on the mantelpiece or in some other, totally beyond his control sort of way, injuring himself.

Jehan patted Bossuet comfortingly on the shoulder as he joined him to observe the operation from the relative safety of the sofa, then threw Joly a rather concerned frown. 

“Joly, are you quite sure he’s well enough?”

Joly tipped his head to one side, all he was really able to do in terms of movement. His arms were straight up above his head in an attempt to hold the middle of the garland as high as Courfeyrac and Bahorel held the ends, but he wasn’t tall enough to challenge either Bahorel’s reach, nor Courfeyrac’s , who towered above them all on a chair. Still, stretching uncomfortably, he smiled softly at Jehan. 

“I think so, Jehan. Don’t fret. It’s an awful chest cold he’s had, and one we’re all sure to come down with before the New Year is here, but it ought not be of concern now he’s over the worst of it.” 

Courfeyrac nodded, waiting patiently for Bahorel to fix his end first. “It’ll do him the world of good to see you all. He does so love Christmas and to be so ill for most of the build-up is absolutely the most unfair thing I’ve yet heard. A few decorations, a little Christmas cheer – by which I of course mean mulled wine - and all of your fine company will do a great deal more to restore him than any amount of bed rest or doctoring could. You’ll see.”

“Speaking of wine, I do hope Grantaire gets here soon! Not only because I should like a tot of something myself - ward away the cold, you know - but he’s rather taller than I am and he can take over with this garland!” Joly whispered, sounding excited, as he shifted from foot to foot in lieu of being able to lower his arms. 

“Oh pipe down,” Bahorel said, in the softest tone he could manage. As no one glared fiercely, he continued in the same hushed tone. “I’m nearly finished. You don’t want it to be crooked, do you? What would Enjolras think?”

“He’d think it was charming.” Jehan said, but never the less motioned to Courfeyrac to drop his end slightly.

“Besides, Combeferre’s almost as tall as I am. He’d be an ideal partner to hang all these with. Done in two shakes if I had Combeferre for an assistant,” Bahorel mused.

Courfeyrac raised an unimpressed eyebrow and pinned his end to the wall with more force than could be considered strictly necessary. 

“He’s with Enjolras, as you well know-Oh! The door, Bossuet… could you – mind the rug!” Courfeyrac hissed as there was a barely audible knock at the door, and rested his forehead on his fingers in resignation.

Grantaire was ushered inside by Bossuet with a rush of cold, the door shut swiftly but ever so carefully behind him. 

“Not awake yet?” he asked, as quiet as his knock had been with a furtive glance at the bedroom door, as if even observing the room in question might wake it’s sleeping occupant.

“Not yet,” Courfeyrac answered, descending from the chair to relieve Grantaire of an array of bottles and baskets, deliver bisous and then relieve Joly of the garland in one graceful, swooping motion. “But that’s all right, gives us more time to have everything set, without Combeferre having to distract him from all the noise some people have been making.”

“How is he?” Grantaire asked, uncharacteristically direct, with soft concern in his tone and eyes.

Courfeyrac smiled to see it, and Joly, now free of the garland, pressed Grantaire’s hand with a glad smile and answered. “Much improved. A little restless through the night, but getting better every day.”

“Good to hear. And sleeping still. Well, may the arms of Morpheus provide the healing and comfort the rest of us find in the arms of our mistresses.”

“And, as Courfeyrac was saying, a little Christmas cheer may do the rest,” Bossuet said, perusing the selection Grantaire had brought.

“Hush! There’s still decorations to be put up. Grantaire, if you’d make yourself useful and… oh! Courfeyrac, you need to… Yes, that’s it. Much better!” Jehan said, rather distracted in several directions as he helped Courfeyrac to create an attractive swag in the middle of the garland. 

The rest of the decorations went up with ease, with many hands to do the bidding and many eyes to artfully arrange. When they were very almost finished, tidying up and putting finishing touches here and there to Courfeyrac’s exact specification, suddenly, Enjolras’ bedroom door opened and everyone froze. 

There was a palpable sigh of relief when Combeferre appeared. Despite the fact Enjolras had been on strict bed rest for several days, he wasn’t known for his obedience when it came to staying in bed when he ought to. Combeferre shut the door behind him without an overabundance of care; Enjolras must be awake.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows in question. Combeferre gave a quick, brief nod. The others, observing all of this silent exchange closely, collectively inhaled a little excited breath.

“Awake, and convinced there is someone else here! What on earth have you all been doing to make so much noise? Courfeyrac, you’ll have to show yourself so as not to ruin the surprise.” Combeferre said in a whisper. Then he paused and gave the room a brief look over. “It does all look lovely though,” he added with an approving nod. 

Joly sprang to his feet, wringing his hands. “Might I reveal myself too? He did see me yesterday after all, and I just want to check him over before we go giving him a shock and…”

“It’s not meant to be a shock. It’s meant to be surprise,” Courfeyrac retorted, giving the room one last look over. “Come on then, like you-“

“Am I too late?” a new voice said from the suddenly opened front door. 

Feuilly stood within it, appeared silently and as if by magic, with a dusting of snow across his shoulders, hat clutched in one hand and cheeks pink from the cold. 

Courfeyrac grinned. “Perfect. We’re all here. Places, everyone.”

…..

“A bit of time out of bed? As its Christmas, you say?” Combeferre said, wearing a thoughtful expression as he scrutinised Enjolras. “I think we might be able to permit that for a short while - your fever has come down somewhat. And Christmas after all,” Combeferre announced, taking his hand back from where it had rested with its back again Enjolras’ forehead. “Agreed, Joly?”

Joly, perched on the other side of the bed, nodded. “Agreed. But you must promise not to overexert yourself, and lie still and be calm. Else it’s straight back to bed. ”

Courfeyrac, beside Enjolras and to all intents and purposes in bed with him, nodded eagerly. “He will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Enjolras, in the centre of all of this, smiled and in one hoarse breath, promised and scolded them. “I’ll do my best to behave. But I’ll say it again, none of you ought to have given up your Christmasses for me.”

“Ought, should, could or did, we wanted to, and I say again, that’s the end of it. Now, hush, and get your dressing gown on. The fire is on in the sitting room, but it’ll be chilly outside of the covers,” Courfeyrac scolded in return. He took the dressing gown Combeferre handed over to him and helped Enjolras slip his arms into it. “Cosy enough?”

Enjolras nodded and braced his hands flat on the bed to swing his legs out of it. His fever might have begun to drop, at long last, but he was still stiff, and sore, and a little dizzy, so moving was something of an ordeal. He had Courfeyrac behind him to keep him steady, Combeferre had his hands in a tight grip, and Joly had shifted to press close to his side, arm around his waist. He’d not fall like this.

So with Joly and Courfeyrac either side of him, and Combeferre holding the bedroom door open, he managed to walk to the living room, on steadier legs than he’d expected, truth be told.   
But the firm hold they had on him was all the more appreciated when his heart gave a great thump, sending blood roaring through his veins as surely as love and affection flood his soul, as he looked up to see what awaited him in his sitting room. 

Arranged over every piece of furniture, and spilling on to the floor, every one of his dearest friends. Prouvaire smiled shyly from an armchair, Bahorel toasted him with a glass of something from his position on the floor before the fire. The other armchair hosted Bossuet, with Grantaire perched on the arm, his own arm companionably around Bossuet’s shoulders. Feuilly had appropriated the chair from the desk in the corner and smiled at Enjolras fondly. The sofa alone was unoccupied but for a mound of blankets and pillows.

“Oh.” 

Joly squeezed him tightly, a laugh coming easily to his throat. “I think we’ve surprised him, my friends.”

Enjolras nodded open mouthed. “Yes.”

“And reduced our great orator to monosyllables. Success, indeed,” Courfeyrac declared, subtly taking a little more of Enjolras’ weight. “Come, sit, before you fall.”

Joly let Courfeyrac escort Enjolras to the sofa, crossing to take the other arm of Bossuet’s chair, while Courfeyrac settled both himself and Enjolras on the sofa, gently manoeuvring Enjolras to lean back against his chest. Combeferre took a seat beside them, quickly and subtly settling his fingers against Enjolras’ wrist and nodding in satisfaction, giving Enjolras a questioning look.

“This all right?” he said, so softly, only Enjolras and Courfeyrac could hear. 

Enjolras nodded mutely, lips slightly parted. 

Combeferre smiled and squeezed Enjolras’ hands tightly. “Then you might want to say something, before you frighten them into thinking you’ve become entirely mute.”

A little colour rose to Enjolras’ pale cheeks as Combeferre moved so Enjolras could see past him again, and drink in the sight of each of his friends there and smiling happily, full of Christmas cheer. 

He wet his lips, and smiled, then in a very hoarse voice he spoke. 

“Merry Christmas.”


End file.
